


Not Half the Man

by Highsmith (quimtessence)



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Coming Untouched, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Hair Pulling, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Episode: s01e02 Four Marks, Smut, Snark, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:54:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quimtessence/pseuds/Highsmith
Summary: "Don't be a bastard," Jaskier whines. It comes out muffled by the pillow beneath his head. His face is turned to the side to allow some measure of breathing, even though all he seems to be able to manage at the moment is dragging in thin gasps. Even by candlelight Geralt can clearly see the flush of his cheeks and the bloom of pink where his teeth are sinking into his bottom lip.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 48
Kudos: 870





	Not Half the Man

**Author's Note:**

> The past two+ weeks have been a bit tough. I struggled to finish anything (almost) this month, but I feel like I needed to post something to prove to myself that I could do it. Personally, I like how this turned out, and I hope you'll find something here to entertain you in these not-fun times. I hope you're staying safe. <3
> 
> My apologies to Sir Paul McCartney for the title. ;)

It's not a night for loitering, what with the heavy, pounding rain at the windows threatening to flood the streets outside their little ramshackle inn, barely a couple of reasonably clean rooms above the tavern in which they'd been drinking mere hours before. Regardless, they shouldn't be doing _this_ , for very good reasons, something to do with the annoying bard being grateful to Geralt for saving him from the elves and Geralt sidestepping taking advantage. Or perhaps the reason has to do with Jaskier stumbling upon the wrong idea altogether, disastrous in the long-run given his penchant for embellishing the truth in song for all and sundry to hear. Or, further still, Geralt falling in yet another of so-called destiny's traps.

Therefore, the whys and wherefores of how they should _not_ be doing this should be abundantly clear.

"Don't be a bastard," Jaskier whines. It comes out muffled by the pillow beneath his head. His face is turned to the side to allow some measure of breathing, even though all he seems to be able to manage at the moment is dragging in thin gasps. Even by candlelight Geralt can clearly see the flush of his cheeks and the bloom of pink where his teeth are sinking into his bottom lip.

He tugs at the short strands at the back of Jaskier's head, rakes his fingers upwards to find a sturdier grip, meagre leverage alongside the hand at his hip, yet oddly satisfying when Jaskier grasps in response, mouth opening and staying open to pant wetly into the bedding.

Geralt already has the oil within reach. He lets go of Jaskier's hip to grab it, wet his fingers, and set it aside on the small bedside table, out of the way. At the first prodding touch in the crease of his arse, Jaskier lifts his hips a little and cants them backwards for easier access. Geralt brushes his fingers around his hole, finds it by touch alone to circle it for a long moment. Jaskier opens his legs farther apart until Geralt finally has a clear view of what he's doing, and he lets his finger sink in to curl up inside him _just so_ , feeling no small measure of satisfaction at the way Jaskier relaxes his muscles around the intrusion in steady increments.

Between his legs, Jaskier's cock hangs hot and hard, twitching when Geralt curls his finger even further. He shifts, trying to get more, even though Geralt's finger is sunk to the hilt, his palm cupped to the swell of his arse. Nevertheless, he wriggles closer, impatient, and Geralt grips his hair tighter, prompting a gasping moan. He does it again, no clear idea of where this is going, what he's doing, other than the visceral need to hear Jaskier come apart in his hands.

Carefully removing his finger, he lingers at the slick rim for an instant with just the tip before burying two fingers inside on the next drive in, slow enough it feels like torture to not thrust in roughly, to take and _take_. A small part of him adds _what is owed_ , but that's not him, not truly, and the thought crumbles swiftly, forgotten in the next moment, his mind too busy anticipating what comes next. Soon enough, he withdraws both fingers, knees repositioning on the bed for better purchase, an angle to carry him through to the end.

Loosened as he is now by virtue of Geralt's fingers, oil leaving glistening trails in the darkened grooves between his arse and the backs of his thighs, Jaskier opens up around him like the softest leather sheath welcoming a freshly-forged sword. Like the richest butter yielding to a hot knife, Geralt's cock sinks in on a measured stroke, to the very root, Jaskier's insides rearranging themselves around him, making room as if Geralt is there to stay, and isn't _that_ a thought. A thought for later, or never. And Geralt can't _think_. Can only focus on the task at hand.

Clutching tightly at the roundness of his shoulder, Geralt quickens his pace from the very start, a little desperate too readily, for no reason other than the heat of him drawing him farther in each time, urging him to draw out more of the little cries Jaskier doesn't seem aware he has been producing for the last couple of minutes.

Vice-like pressure around his cock has him hissing, swiftly followed by a groan when Jaskier pulls himself forward up the bed a couple of inches only to rock roughly back into Geralt's pelvis even as Geralt himself is thrusting forward. Skin slaps like thunder crackling into the quiet around them. For a moment, Geralt believes the storm outside has entered their room, an uninvited guest to the proceedings.

A moan stumbles, unbidden, from the back of his throat. A trembly thing which has no business existing. But it does. And Jaskier must hear it, for he squeezes around him in response, limbs flailing as if in shock, at Geralt himself or at the sensation or both, to the point where a mighty shiver wracks his body from the top of his head down his spine to his toes. A fascinating sight, but mere distraction. However, he feels suddenly compelled to lean forward to press his lips to the notch of Jaskier's spine in the wake of those tremors, one palm moving to the sheets so he can remain fucking him all the while, and Jaskier trembles with it, minute little twitches Geralt can't help noticing, can't help feeling everywhere their bodies are connected.

His cock seems to swell even further for no apparent reason, and he is soon near the edge, too soon, his stamina dismayingly inadequate. But Jaskier surprises him yet again by stilling suddenly, gasping in shock before fucking himself on Geralt's cock, taking him all the way inside as his own cock spurts onto the bedding beneath him. Geralt soon follows, his fingers pulling at the roots of Jaskier's hair where they have been buried the entire time, eliciting another feeble moan.

"Satisfied?" he grunts out, his face making room for itself in the crook of Jaskier's neck.

And Jaskier merely trembles in his arms, finally quiet. All quiet but for the storm outside.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/comments are, of course, greatly appreciated. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Tumblr: [rhubarbdreams](https://rhubarbdreams.tumblr.com/)


End file.
